The Hero Within
by OrganizedMess
Summary: [COMPLETE] What happens when the man who wants to kill you, saves you? SSa
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Hero Within  
  
Author: Typically Chugging Tea  
  
Description: What if the man who saved you, was the man who was suppose to kill you.  
  
Disclaimer: Characters of Alias are not mine; they belong to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot and ABC.  
  
Time: Ehh I don't know, sometime in the current time!  
His feet pounded against the wet pavement. Rain fell hard against his face as he quickly turned into a dark ally, following a shadowy silhouette of the women he had been chasing for nearly 3 years now. The woman he had secretly admired from afar but could never come to terms to his true feelings.  
  
Sydney.  
  
Even her name screamed sex appeal to him. He had pushed to his feelings aside and focus on his objective. His mission: to Capture Sydney Bristow and bring her to Sloane.  
  
It wasn't as easy as it sounded.  
  
Sydney ran through various doors and halls inside the abandoned building. Her heels killed her feet with every step. She had gotten used to the pain. In her kind of work, you had to. The sequences of the night flashed through her head. She was to steal information from a big drug lord in Havana, Cuba. Everything was going to plan, she flirted with the right guards, received the right information to get past the security. Everything was fine until she saw him.  
  
Sark  
  
She shuttered at his name. They made eye contact, and Sydney had made her way through the crowd and out into the street where the pursuit began. Now it came to this. She was running from him, she hated it yet she panicked. In her business, there was no room for nerves. It was such a foreign feeling to her, panicking. She was usually so well prepared for anything. Only one problem stood in her way.  
  
The dress. It was too tight to squeeze a gun, anywhere. She complained to Kendall but got the same reaction she always got.  
  
"Suck it up, Bristow."  
  
Men. Can't live with them, can't live without them is that age-old motto. Who the hell thought of that?  
  
She turned a corner and ran into a room with no way out. She cursed herself on her bad judgment as she turned around and Sark jogged through the doorway, that unforgettable smirk plastered on his face.  
  
"Well, I must thank you for that lovely midnight jog. I haven't experienced those in quite a few months," he greeted her. She could already tell he was out of breath.  
  
"The pleasure was all mine," she replied, sarcasm scattered in her voice. Her eyes narrowed in on him. He shifted uneasily, undoing his blue tie.  
  
"So, you want to make this easy and just come to me," he said tossing the tie into the corner, "or want the hell beaten out of you."  
  
"I'll take B for 500$ Alex," she muttered before charging at him. She began with a punch towards the head but he narrowly missed it and her fist crashed through the wall. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She lifted her legs and pushed against the wall, sending Sark hurling backwards. He lost his grip and Sydney's elbow made direct contact with his stomach. He hunched over and staggered back a few steps. She swung her foot to make contact his face but was mistaken. He grabbed her foot and twisted into the air. Sending her into a full 360, landing on the floor face down. She coughed and sputtered and made an attempt to get up but Sark had her pinned to the ground. She squirmed as he placed his knee against her folded arms.  
  
"Good luck getting me out of this building," she gasped, his weight crushing her air, "CIA agents will notice my absence and then yo-AHHH!" she yelped as he stuck a needle in her, "What was that."  
  
"Tranquilizer, goodnight sweetheart," he taunted her as he got up. She got up to her feet and tried to charge after him again only to fall unconscious under the strong drug. Sark caught her and laid her carefully on the ground. He reached inside his vest and took out his cell phone. He knelt down beside her as he dialed the familiar phone.  
  
"Sloane," a voice responded on the other line.  
  
"Mission: Deer trap is completed," Sark said, wiping a stray hair out of Sydney's face. He actually quite enjoyed the face that she was unconscious and was unable to throw insults into his face. She actually looked, surprisingly enough, like a sound angel. He couldn't help but allow a smirk to shoot across his face only for it to disappear in a few seconds.  
  
"Good job, Mr. Sark. I'll trace this call and have a team pick her up in a few minuites. I want you to stay by herside the entire time. I can't trust anyone these days." Sloane assigned him and simply clicked off the phone. It was perfessional, he knew. No Good byes. Only 'Good job' or 'Nice work' the normal comments.  
  
As Sark sat down he wondered, how boring it must have been to have a regular job. As Americans say it a 'nine to five.' Poor, stupid commoners. Sark could never understand how people could acaully live like that. 'No wonder the suicide toll was so high' he laughed to himself. 


	2. French Airport

Soon the retrieval team arrived to take Sydney's unconscious body to the plane. Sark followed cautiously behind the workers as they took her to a retraining cell. It was quite lavish actually. More then a prisoner deserves, Sark thought to himself. A large queen sized bed lay in the middle while a working desk with a small lamp sat on the opposite side. Paper and pencils (dulled, of course) were at her reach. The only thing that made this a restraining cell the steal bars only half an inch apart. Not even a hand could fit through this small space.  
  
Sark sat on the luxurious couch and placed his laptop on his knee and began typing the debrief. He was completely alone in the presidential cabin of the plane. The soft clicking of his keys began to irritate him; he stopped momentarily and looked around. A stereo and large t.v. sat were hidden in the small cubbored across from him. The walls of the plane we're outlined with caramel colored couches. He shifted his gaze to the window and stared out it. It was a horrible morning; the plane briefly flew through some clouds and towards the night sky. It was nearing 3:30 now. Nearly 3 and a half-hours since Sydney and Sark fought.  
  
It wasn't the first time. Sydney was what Sark liked to think of as a feisty thing. No matter if she's 30 or 60 she'll always have this flame inside of her, this passion that became so clear when she fought. It amazed him.  
  
To Sark, passion was one of the sexiest traits of a woman, other than appearance. He could look past eyes, the smile, even look past her breasts. If she showed passion in what she was doing, whether it was writing a poem or saving the world, Sark would melt at her fingertips.  
  
A small, frail moan made its way through the empty cabin.  
  
The hostage had woken up.  
  
Sark smiled smugly to himself as he got up, straightened his suit, and walked in long strides towards the restraining cell. He immediately wiped the smile off as he walked in front of the doorframe. He slyly leaned against the wall opposite the room.  
  
Sydney laid there, her hand holding her forehead. Her eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the light in the room. Once her eyes were fully opened she shot up straight in her bed, only to keel over once more in pain.  
  
"Don't hurt yourself sunshine," Sark said in a cocky tone. A noticeable scowl made its way across her face, this only made Sark want to grin more. But no, he must restrain himself. He was a professional. A Professional assassin.  
  
"Where am I?" she asked, laying back down on the bed, now both her hands covering her face. She was obviously in pain but was no way near to confessing in.  
  
"You're in my custody, Mrs. Bristow. That's all you'll need to know for now," Sark informed her.  
  
"What do you want from me? You have the information already, don't you? You don't need me anymore," she said, resistant clear in her voice.  
  
"Now, now Mrs. Bristow. You know its no fun if you don't take any prisoners." Sark told her, he now stood in front of the cell, watching her completely. Sydney turned over, her back now facing Sark. 'Oh, your no fun,' he wanted to whine but he withheld it. There would be plenty of playtime later, he reassured himself. "Breakfast will be in 20 minutes. I suggest you get comfortable, you'll be held here for the time being.' He sternly walked away without allowing her a chance to make some snide comment in return.  
  
Sark loved being in control.  
  
He sat down and continued typing his debrief in a much more pleasant mood.  
  
- - - - France - - - - -  
  
The plane arrived in France at 9 in the morning. Sark had fallen asleep sitting up with his laptop still sitting on his lap. The sudden jolt of the plane skidding onto the runway jerked him awake. In sudden defense mode he stood up and was prepared to fight whatever was there. With this action, his laptop fell to the ground and slammed shut. Sark cursed himself, picked it up, and opened it. He tried to turn it on with no luck what so ever. He shrugged it off though; he could easily fix it. Technology was his forte among many other subjects.  
  
He suddenly remembers the reason why he was on the plane holding the broken laptop. He walked down the hall and stopped in front of Sydney's restraining cell. There she was, curled in the fetile position, most certainly not in a comfortable sleep. Soon a guard with a gun holstered to his side came up to him.  
  
"Je serai obligé à prendre ici le prisonnier au M Sloane. Est-elle prête?" he asked curtly. Sark gave him a slight shrug of his sholders.  
  
"S'il vous plaît l'attente hors de. Elle sera prête dans quelques moments." He asked him, the guard nodded and walked out of the cabin. Sark reached inside his pocket and pulled out the same medication he had administrated into her a few hours before. He quietly slide the bars opened and stepped inside.  
  
He walked too her quietly as he prepared the needle. He reached down to grab her arm when suddenly she was awake. She kicked his side sending him to the ground. He sputtered as he watched her make her way to the door. He quickly pulled himself up and before she could reach the door to the outside, he grabbed her arm tightly and pushed the needle into her neck. She let out short gasp.  
  
"Try that again and it will hurt 10 times worse." He hissed into her ear before she passed out once again in his arms.  
  
Woman. Can't live with them, can't live without them. 


	3. Ready, Aim, Fire

Sydney limped over in her chair; strands of hair covered her face. She woke up slowly, but didn't dare to sit up straight too quickly. She moaned due to the throbbing in her head, but luckily, the light in the room didn't make her squint. The room was filled with darkness beside a hanging light above her. She could not tell either the width or the length and that scared her.  
  
Unknown to many people, including Vaughn, Sydney had a small phobia of the dark. Being afraid of monsters was not the case; it was fear of the unknown. She didn't know what stood 3 feet or 10 feet ahead of her and that frightened her. This fear might've been provoked when she was a little girl. While her father was on what he liked to call "business trips", Sydney would wake from terrible nightmares-most of them involving her mother-and nobody would be there to comfort her.  
  
Actually, there had been someone, the Spanish maid, but it meant nothing to Sydney. She was just doing her job. Sydney needed love from a parental unit, from the only one she had. Sometimes, she would bite her lip and sit in the dark until she grew tired once more. Since then, a fear of being alone in the dark grew.  
  
As a spy, though, she could not let this fear be known.  
  
Soon the sounds of footsteps grew closer and Sydney stiffened. Soon Sark came into her line of vision. 'He looks tired,' Sydney noted, 'Possibly weak.'  
  
"Good evening, Miss Bristow, I trust you slept well." He spoke with his usual charming British accent. Sydney had to admit, she had a weakness for accents.  
  
"Fuck you," but she dare not show it.  
  
"I'm glad to see you as well," Sark smirked, "I'm here to inform you that shall be speaking with my advisor, Mr. Sloane, momentarily. Your mother will be joining him."  
  
"I don't have a mother; she died nearly 30 years ago,"  
  
"On the contrary, I believe you do and she's alive and well." He retorted.  
  
"Where am I?" Sydney changed the subject, her voice solid and stern. She had to show that she was un-fazed with all that she had gone through. To show weakness this far along the road could be very dangerous.  
  
"You're in an abandoned factory, that's all you need to know for now," He told her. He loved being in this situation, Sydney was finally the weak one instead of an equal. She was the one being controlled, the puppet on the strings. Sark was the puppet-master now.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she said, locking her eyes onto his, "You know you are much greater without Sloane or Irina. You can be your own boss, not having to report to anyone. I can see you hate this. You hate having to be somebody else's bitch and do all the work. Sark, your capable to do so much more." His name rolled off her tongue, and he repressed the shivers that went down his spine. Before Sark could say something in return, there were the sounds of a cluster of boots approaching the area. Sark closed his mouth and nodded, as he stepped off to the side.  
  
Sloane stepped into the lighten area. His ugly, beaten, old face showed a story of a man who had had his downfalls in life. Every wrinkle, every crease in his face showing frustration and sadness all at once. Sydney wanted to scoff, 'pathetic,' she thought, 'you're a pathetic, old fool.'  
  
"Sydney, my darling baby Sydney. How lovely it is to see you," he gleamed, and over his shoulder she could see her mother. She hadn't changed, her demeaning eyes and scowl remained on her face, "You've been meddling in my plans again . now what have I told you before?" Sydney remained quiet, staring into the dark oblivion in front of her as she soaked in the worse, "Sydney, you know what I said before, I'll kill you if you try to interfere. Why can't people listen to me?," he raised his voice, showing the emphasis on his words, "Guards," he motioned with his hand.  
  
At that moment, five guards with guns in their hand all stepped forward and surrounded her. The guard in front of her pointed his gun to her face, only inches from touching her nose.  
  
"Ne pas tirer jusqu' à mon signal," he commanded them sternly.  
  
France.  
  
Sydney was in France. She had flown from Havana, Cuba to somewhere in France in only a matter of hours. The guard that stood in front of her, nodded at his command. Sydney kept her composure.  
  
Meanwhile Sark stood in the corner, observing the scene. He grew uneasy at the sight of the guns. Sark knew of Sloane's plans to try to scare Sydney, but he wasn't serious about killing Sydney.  
  
Was he?  
  
"Sydney, I've loved you like a daughter since you were born. Even before that, I've always looked at you as if you were my own flesh and blood," he said, the expression on his face remained solid and strong, but like many other people in this terrible world, you're considered a threat." Sark's eyes shot between Sydney, Sloane, and the guards.  
  
"Prêt," Sloane announced. A tear rolled down Sydney's cheek as she closed her eyes. Sloane looked unmoved, his eyes continually to stare at Sydney. Rage and Sadness mixed. No, no, no this is not right. This is not in the plan.  
  
"Dessein," he continued. Sark was in panic mode now. What should he do? More like, what could he do?  
  
"F-" Sloane began but was interrupted.  
  
"STOP!" Sark yelled, knocking the gun out of the hands of the guard that stood in front of Sydney. All of them looked at him in bewilderment. 


	4. A Turn of Events

[a/n: sorry this is a little late, I'm in the spring play and I've been practicing so late and not being able to sit down and actually write the chapter! Another note, during the week of May 11th - 16th I'm going to be gone at Outdoor school being a counselor and will have no access to any computers. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but as soon as I get back I'll type up a chapter and get it out to you. Thank you]  
  
Sark stayed in that position, shielding Sydney from the firearms. The only sound that could be heard was the rapid breathing coming from Sark. His eyes were large and wild; his hands were shaking slightly. Sloane and Irina stared at him in bewilderment; none of them knew exactly what to do next.  
  
"Mr. Sark, may I speak with you for a moment? Sloane's voice had an edge to it. Sark knew by this tone, he was withholding his rage. Sark steadily lowered his arms and straightened his tie as he walked a few feet away from the others.  
  
Sloane crossed his arms as soon as they stopped and turned towards Sark; that was never a good sign. Sark could read his expression well, which was one of Sark's fortes. A twitch of the lip meant anger, eyes searching for something in the room meant suspicion, and the constant wrinkling of the nose meant it was all a big joke. Sloane's lip twitched slightly while he stood in front of Sark.  
  
"Mr. Sark, you have nothing but loyalty for me. Is that correct?" He said, his eyes steadily on Sark's. This made Sark uneasy; he hated when someone looked him straight in the eye. It only meant more difficulty in telling a lie. He didn't break down in laughter as most children did when telling a lie, instead, it made Sark nervous that the person could see the fear and resentment in his eyes while telling a lie. Sark remained calm and took deep, shallow breaths.  
  
"That is correct," Sark said, his voicing shaking. He took a moment to calm himself and continued, "Sir." Sloane nodded but his eyes never moved from Sark's eyes.  
  
"And you would never betray me in anyway, correct?" he asked. Sark had more difficulty answering this question. He would betray Sloane in a second if he had the opportnity. Sark was power hungry, not stupid.  
  
"Never sir," Sark answered in a soft voice, trying to keep his voice steady.  
  
"Good then," Sloane said, his face split into his familiar sadistic smile, "let's go back, shall we?" Sloane began to walk back to Sydney, but Sark stopped him.  
  
"Mr. Sloane," he said. Sloane stopped and turned around facing Sark. Sark took a few steps forward and came face to face with Sloane once again. "I was wondering if I could have a bit of time alone with Sydney," Sark kept his feet steady as he watched Sloane's reaction.  
  
It was completely blank.  
  
Damn him.  
  
"You see, she gave me a bit of trouble on the flight here. I just want to repay for the pleasure." Sark asked as his eyes darted towards Sydney for a moment. She was looking over there as a suspicious look occupied her face.  
  
Sloane looked down at the ground and then back at Sark. Obviously thinking about the question, "I'll give you an hour only because I'm in such a good mood," he said, the smile that he had before now had completely vanished, "but at 12 midnight she will die." He curtly walked back to the group as Sark followed slowly behind. Breathing in a small sigh, he began organizing a plan in his head. But to do what? He was about to find out.  
  
"Well, you've been saved for the time being Sydney. Be grateful that you have a fan here," Sloane growled looking at Sark. "Gardes, séjour hors de et le prisonnier de certian de marque pas conge," Sloane ordered the guards. The biggest guard nodded and the guards stepped outside. "See you later, sweetheart." Sloane waved to Sydney and walked towards the door, Irina followed closely behind. A scowl grew once more on Sydney's face as she turned her head to look at Sark. A faint smirk grew on his.  
  
He took a few steps encircling Sydney; the faint clicking of his shoes was the only sound that could be heard. Sydney kept her eyes straight ahead.  
  
He finally stopped behind her and knelt down. Playing with the handcuffs that kept her contained. He stood up and took out his gun; she could hear him click off the safety "Sark, think about this." She said desperately.  
  
"Shut up," he retorted, aiming the gun towards her.  
  
"You're not like this. You don't want to do this." She pleaded him She turned her head and she could see the gun pointed towards her. She turned back and closed her eyes. She flinched as she heard the gun go off. For a moment, she just sat there, wondering when the so-called bright light was supposed to come.  
  
She then realized that she wasn't dead. She opened her eyes and pulled her arms from behind her. He had shot off the chain of the handcuffs. She looked at what the remaining bits of the device as it hung from her wrist, and then she shifted her gaze towards Sark.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. Sark grabbed her arm and pulled her up.  
  
"I suggest you shut up and do exactly what I tell you," he began to pull her towards the door.  
  
"Where are you taking me," she asked. She wasn't fighting against him, she noted. Nor was he holding onto to her tightly. Sydney slowly became very confused on what was happening.  
  
"I'm going to help you escape, now shut up and listen to me. This is the plan." 


	5. Another Trip, Another Country

Sark felt like another person, like another being took captive of him and forced him to help Sydney Bristow escape. He was attracted to her, that was true, but he had no idea his affections would take him as far as disobeying his mentor. Secretly, Sark enjoyed it.  
  
"Venir rapidement! Le Prisonnier s'est échappé," Sark yelled at the guards. They took a moment to look at him and clumsily ran into the warehouse. Muttering things Sark understood as, "idiot." Quickly, one by one Sark heard them fall down to the ground with a loud thud.  
  
God, he wanted her so bad.  
  
As he heard the last guard fall, Sydney stepped out of the warehouse with a smile plastered on her face. "Nothing to it," was all she said and all she needed to say. Sark flipped out his cell phone and dialed numbers into it. He brought it up to his ear as he grabbed Sydney's arm with his free hand and began to make his way quickly down the dark back streets.  
  
"Sark here," he spoke into the phone. "I need a favor from you," he paused for a second. Sydney could hear a small voice coming from the phone, "about 20 minutes. thank you," he flipped the phone closed and continued to pull Sydney through the back streets.  
  
Sark bumped up the speed and they began to run down way. Sydney didn't realize it earlier, but it had started to rain. When you have a gun aimed at your head, you tend to forget things  
  
"Sark!" Sydney yelled. "Sark, Stop!" She demanded but her requests were ignored. Primal instinct had kicked in and Sark was focused on one objective. To what the objective was, Sydney still didn't know. Whether she was going to be killed or saved, Sydney was just being pulled, more like dragged, for the ride. She was left with the question, why? Why had Sark gone against Sloane to save her, the enemy? Was it planned, was it spontaneous? These questions began to stew in her head.  
  
They had been running for what seemed like an hour, but it was only 20 minutes, until they reached a small clearing. In the middle of this clearing was a small, black plane. Its engine was ready and prepared to take off. Without stopping, Sark dragged Sydney onto the plane and pushed her into a chair. Without blinking, Sark took out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed Sydney's wrist. Before she could ask what the hell he was going, he slapped the other half of the handcuffs on the chair's arm.  
  
"What the hell is this?" Sydney said in frustration, yanking on the handcuffs a few times.  
  
"Those are to make sure you don't try to kill me when my back is turned," Sark said, taking his sleeve and wiping the sweat off his brow. "Now, calm down for a while. I'll be back," Sark turned and walked out of the compartment into the next, which was the small bathroom. As he closed the door, Sark leaned against it and sank into an exhausted heap. He rested his head in his hands as he let his actions sink in. He had stolen what Sloane referred to as his 'precious jewel.' He had lied to Sloane and betrayed his trust.  
  
He was going to die.  
  
What was he going to do now? The pilot was waiting for his instructions so he could fly to wherever Sark pleased. Whether it would be somewhere exotic like Brazil or . or .  
  
Switzerland.  
  
Sloane won't think to look there. His frame of mind would be somewhere exotic, foreign. Sark already knew of a cottage near the small city of Chur he and Sydney could occupy for a few days. In the few days, Sark would have to figure out what his plans for keeping Sydney out of Sloane's hands were.  
  
Sark opened the door a crack and peered out. Sydney sat in the chair, obviously looking tired and distraught.  
  
This was real; there was no denying it.  
  
Sark sighed as he closed the door once again. He would figure out everything. It was now his duty to keep Sydney Bristow alive. Sark stood up and dusted his suit off; he recomposed himself and walked back into the main compartment. Sydney looked up at him and Sark got a closer look at her. She looked less scared and calmer actually.  
  
"Please answer my question," she said, her voice monotone and drowsy. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
Sark paused for a moment before answering. He couldn't reveal true reasons for saving her, 'I'm saving you Sydney because I'm madly in love with you.' Yes, that'll go down very well. "You will learn my intensions when the time comes. For now, get some sleep. We'll be arriving at our destination in a few hours."  
  
"Are you still working with Sloane?" she asked, seemingly unmoved by the situation. That was a requirement for doing this type of work, being stone faced when your life could generally be over. You had to breathe down Death's neck to overcome the situation.  
  
"Who holds my allegiance for time should be no concern to you," Sark told her but he was hiding behind a façade. He had worked for Sloane but now he was his own free man. Sure, he had had the desire to break free from Sloane for quite a while but not so suddenly. Sark wasn't the 'spur of the moment' type of guy. "You best get some rest Miss Bristow, it will be a long ride."  
  
"Where are we going?" she quickly interjected; she wasn't going to let him escape that quickly. Sark stopped, his back to Sydney, and turned to face her.  
  
"Somewhere safe," and with that Sark strolled out of the compartment and into the pilot's cockpit. "Switzerland," he said and sat down in the co- pilot's chair. Neither of them said a word more to each other, Sark just sat there and gazed out into the blue wonder. The plane sliced through some white clouds at times but nothing more. Sark felt his eyelids become heavy as complete relaxation took over him.  
  
What not many people knew was that Sark's father was a pilot. Not an air force pilot or anything out of the ordinary, just a simple commercial pilot. When Sark was visiting his home from boarding school his father would take him on trips across Ireland to Scotland, England, or France depending on the flight. Sark would always sit in the co-pilot's seat and watch his father at work. One thing Sark remembered his father saying was, "You're always safe in the clouds, nobody can touch you up here." How ironic it was when his plane crashed down. It didn't damper Sark's feelings about flying; he couldn't think of a better way to travel. Maybe that's where Sark inherited his mindless brutality, killing someone without a shred of regret. When his father died, he showed no emotion. To the outside world; he was still a perfectly normal 11-year-old boy. Little did they know that a catalyst had begun to grow. Nothing had seemed to move him anymore. He had been almost machine like in a sense. When his mother had been killed in a drive by shooting when he was 19, only anger built inside.  
  
Suddenly Sark was jolted back into the real world when the plane bounced on the runway; he squinted as looked outside at the white snowy mountains that surrounded him. He shifted his gaze and recognized a small black car parked on the side of the road.  
  
He stretched his arms as he got up, his legs were stiffer then Hell but he continued walking. He opened the door quietly, letting the sun drip into the room slowly. Sydney sat in her chair, her head resting on the back of the chair. Sark regretted waking her up, she looked so peaceful when she wasn't trying to kick the living shit out of you. He took the handcuff keys out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. As he was removing them from her wrist, she let out a soft moan.  
  
"No. Don't," she said groggily, lifting her arms in protest, only to let them drop heavily once again. She was exhausted from all the recent events but it would be easier for Sark to remove her from the plane. He tossed one of her arms around his shoulder and snaked his arm around her waist to support her. "No, no," she softly protested.  
  
"Shh, don't worry. You're okay," his whispered back to her, he could feel the tension in her back begin to slide away.  
  
"Vaughn?" she asked, not opening her eyes as they walked outside. Sark didn't reply to her last comment but he did wonder. How could she mistake his voice for Agent Vaughn's? He shrugged it off for now, knowing she was half asleep. He placed her in the car and re-attached the handcuffs to her wrist, never could be too careful, and handcuffed her to her seat. He then got into the drivers seat and turned they keys that were already in the ignition. He began his journey to the middle of nowhere while Sydney sat in the back, sleeping soundly 


	6. Home Away From Home

Sloane leaned back in his over-priced chair as he sat alone in his office. He had almost every luxury in life: a beautiful home, personally tailored suits, a car for every day of the week, among other things. Sloane lived a very comfortable life but since Emily's unexpected death, all physical materials had seemed like nothing. His home was empty without the laughter of his wife, her garden of flowers seemed to wither away before him, and his job became his purpose in life. The only thing that kept him away from his home with so many of his memories locked away. Sloane sighed as he stared out his window at the busy Paris nightlife. The friends that swarmed in herds like sheep with no master, the laughter that seemed to swell up but then fade away before him He began to think about the people with their boyfriends and girlfriends, wives or husbands.  
  
He wanted to kill them all.  
  
No one deserved to be happy while he was wrapped in such misery. He had gone through so much in his life: watching friends die before him, heading into mission after mission where his life could be threatened but having to swallow that fear. There was no justice in the world according to Sloane. Sure, he had betrayed and killed many men, some his employees, but he needed to. Only the strongest will survive and Sloane would do anything possible to make sure he would come out on top. Yet, taking away the love of his life, he took that as hitting below the belt. Yes, he did kill Sydney's fiancé and he did kill Dixon's wife. It was Sloane's duty to take their lives; Sydney had revealed to her fiancé her true occupation. Dixon killed Emily, whether he meant to or not he. He was still the one who was holding the gun; he was the one who pulled the trigger. That was enough evidence for Sloane's actions.  
  
Irina silently stepped into the small office and cleared her throat. Awakening Sloane from his deep thinking, he turned around in the sly way he always did. Irina's facial expressions told the story by themselves.  
  
"Sir, I just received news from the guards," Irina spoke, her voice shaky.  
  
"Is she dead?" Sloane asked, his voice stone cold.  
  
"Not exactly sir, you see-"  
  
"What do you mean not exactly? Is she dead or not?"  
  
"She escaped sir, and Sark is missing," She blurted out. Anger grew inside Sloane, but he contained it. Going off on a female employer would not look good on his reputation.  
  
"Get a search team together and find her," he muttered harshly. Irina noticed the red that grew on his cheeks and slowly backed towards the door. "Now!" he yelled, Irina jumped and quickly left the office. Sloane turned his chair again and faced the busy streets of Paris again. He seemed Placid, his jaw clenched and his eyes focused.  
  
Appearances can be very deceiving.  
  
-  
  
Sark pulled up to the house, turned off the ignition, and sat there. The house that stood before him was two stories high and completely made of wood. The normal occupants had taken a trip to somewhere unknown to him and loaned the house to him out of a favor, stocked with food to last a month. Sark stepped out into the frozen wind and opened Sydney's door where she remained asleep. It had been a two-hour drive from the airport and any kind of civilization. It was now 1:00 in the afternoon, nearly 9 hours since the escape. Sark still had the no idea what he was going to do but one objective stood clear in his mind: keep Sydney away from Sloane.  
  
What was Sark going to tell her?  
  
Sark slowly picked her up, so not to wake up, and carried her up the walk away. The concrete below him was lightly dusted with snow. Sark softly chuckled to himself, thinking of how ironic this must have looked. Sydney, the one woman who wanted him dead was in his arms. He held her like a groom carrying his blushing bride to their honeymoon suit. She groaned as he walked up the steps but soon stopped and snuggled her nose into the crook of his neck. He slyly opened the door and softly kicked it open. The house had a very large living room; it's ceiling standing almost 20 feet tall. The kitchen was a good size and all the bedrooms were upstairs. Anybody could easily live here. Sark carefully walked up the stairs and entered the first bedroom he came upon.  
  
The walls of the room were painted a soft pink, the balcony had soft silk curtains, and the bed had floral print and yellow and orange flower print were scattered all over it.  
  
Definitely a girl's bedroom  
  
He laid her down softly on the bed and watched her shift into a comfortable position on top of the comforter. He stood next to her bed, just watching her. The possible reason Sark was attracted to Sydney was because he saw her as an equal, someone who could kick his ass and probably someone a lot bigger then him. It was never because she needed someone to protect her. It was because of her independence. Yet, Sark noticed an emptiness, an almost loneliness surrounding her whenever they encountered eachother. Her friends, father, Sloane, and Vaughn; some things didn't fit in the right spot. Sark could tell.  
  
He quietly left the room and made his way downstairs. He poured himself a glass of white wine and proceeded to pick a CD. Once he had selected one, he put it in the oversized entertainment system, made himself comfortable on the brown leather sofa, and let the sounds of Beethoven relax him. Swishing the wine remaining in his glass, he looked vacantly out the window as the snow came cascading to the ground against the pale blue sky. The first time in a long time, Sark felt completely content at where he was and whom he was with.  
  
-  
  
Sydney squinted at the brightness of the light reflecting off the snow. She groaned as she turned her head and smothered her face into her pillow. She suddenly lifted her head, where did she get a pillow? She looked around and saw the pink walls and the pink, silk curtains. She defiantly wasn't on a plane anymore but in a bedroom; a rather girlish looking room she had to admit. She slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shivered as a small, cold draft blew against Sydney's face. She glanced at the end of the bed and saw a forest green sweater. Without hesitation, or realizing that the sweater belonged to someone else, she slipped it on and tightly wrapped it around her. She then got up and made her way to the glass sliding doors that led out to the balcony. She opened the doors and stepped out, feeling the icy wind against her. She glanced over the edge and saw a car parked in front. Presuming it was the car Sark and she drove in, she shrugged it off and looked up and saw the thousands upon thousands of trees before her. She searched for any sign of somebody living by, possibly seeing smoke coming up from a chimney or a rooftop. She saw nothing.  
  
Sydney sighed and made her way back inside. She was stuck in the same house as Sark, the man who tried killing her and some of her associates multiple of times was somewhere in this house. That brought Sydney to another question, why had Sark saved her. She should have been dead yet she was living because Sark risked his life for her. She quietly made her way downstairs where she heard the soft sounds of Mozart coming from the kitchen. She gave the clock a quick glance and realized it was nearly 6:00 in the evening. Sydney had no idea how long she slept but knew she slept soundly.  
  
She softly pushed the door opened and saw Sark cooking something over the oven. The music was too loud for Sark to hear Sydney enter. You couldn't imagine the startled look on his face and how quickly he grabbed the nearest knife once he had noticed her presence.  
  
"Miss Bristow," he gasped as he put the knife down. He took a noticeable deep breath and recomposed himself before he turned once again to the oven, "I trust you slept well?"  
  
"Where am I, Sark?" Sydney asked. She wanted to get straight to the point. She needed answers, and she wanted them now.  
  
"You are in the Swiss alps, miles away from another human being." He spoke as steam began to rise from the pot before him, "So if you plan to escape, I suggest you take a coat and a good pair of shoes. It would be a very long walk."  
  
"The Swiss alps? When did I get here?" she asked. It felt so childish asking questions like these. Though she was seemingly unconscious, she should have guessed from the snowy hills and trees that she saw earlier.  
  
"A few hours ago," Sark told her, not facing her.  
  
"Why did you steal me away from Sloane back in France?" Her tone was serious. Sark sighed, this question was going to come up sooner or later whether Sark liked it or not. He neglected not preparing an answer or at least a good lie for her but would tell her as much of the truth as he presumed she could handle.  
  
He just hoped he could handle saying it. 


	7. Bonding

[A/N: this chapter is not Beta read. I'm looking for a new Beta reader so if your interested please e-mail me at FLAPPERgirl7@hotmail.com. Thank you.]  
  
Sark turned his back to her and turned the pot down to a simmer and continued to prepare dinner.  
  
"I've worked with Sloane for nearly 3 years now. Being his gofer and serving his every need." He said through clenched teeth as he began to chop lettuce vigoursley. Sydney thought it best if she stood back while he had the knife in his hand.  
  
"15 years ago my father died in a plane crash. He was the pilot. They searched through the debris as they searched for a reason for the crash. They ruled out mechanical failure." Sark stopped and put the knife down. He closed his eyes, took a steady breath in and slowly breathed out. He had never spoken these words to another person. Nobody knew what Sark knew. Sydney curiously looked at him, why was he telling her about his father's death? What did this have to do with Sark kidnapping her? Sark turned to her and she saw how tired he was. A soft tint of purple was present under his eyes. His lop sided mouth appeared emotionless, and his eyes were cold. This sent shivers up Sydney's spine  
  
"Sloane had men on that plane. They were acting as civilians. Transporting some type of bullshit, I don't know. The plane was shot down by on of Sloane's enemies and it crashed into the Pacific Ocean." His eyes glistened but no tear dare fall." I never saw my father again because of Sloane and his greed."  
  
"What does any of this have to do with me?" she blurted out, taking a step forward. She had hardly spoken a word through out his story. She contained her sighs and yawns as long as she could so not to piss him off.  
  
Sark was a ticking time bomb to Sydney. She never knew when he might go off.  
  
Sark was taken back by this sudden outburst. It was time; it was time to say it. He returned his attention to the simmering pot in front of him and turned it off.  
  
"Since my father's death I wanted vengeance. Your mother recruited me like you were by Sloane. I stumbled onto information about Sloane's men on my father's plane," he paused for a moment, sighing in the memory of it all. "Irina turned herself to you and I was able to join Sloane. I was right where I wanted to be," He smirked as he reached up and pulled down two midnight blue plates.  
  
"I believe you know the saying, Miss Bristow. Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer? That was my plan. I learned everything about Sloane; from what assassins he has assisted to how he likes his coffee in the morning. Then I learned about the prophecy and your part in it. " He finished serving himself and walked to the living room. Carrying his plate in one hand and his red wine in the other. Sydney followed, she remained standing as he sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.  
  
HE was acting so casual about everything. As if he had just read it out of a book. Sydney didn't know whether to feel sympathetic or disgusted with him.  
  
"I've toiled with Sloane's plans. He fucked with my life so I've fucked with his. I have the one thing he wants, the one thing he needs," He took his fork and began to eat what looked like chicken alfredo.  
  
"So .wait a minute. This whole thing, "she said gesturing with her hands, making an invisible circle, "is about revenging your father's death?  
  
"Yes," he lied. It wasn't completely about his father death but also about her. Sark was no way near confessing that part of his plans to her, "Sloane has ruined my life, as well as yours. As long as you're live, Sloane's plan will not fall through."  
  
"What plan is this?" Sydney asked wrapped her arms around her. She felt a cold breeze blow against the back of her neck that sent goose bumps down her back. Sark sighed and looked into Sydney's eyes. For a moment Sydney became frightened. She wasn't looking into Sark's eyes, his haunting blue eyes. These eyes were different: they showed concern. They showed sympathy; traits Sydney was unaware Sark possessed until now.  
  
She shifted uncomfortably in the spot she stood.  
  
"You need to be dead by New Years Eve this year," he told her, his voice tender and soft.  
  
Sydney knew many people who wanted her dead, but this threat seemed different. Instead of being of help to the prophecy, she needed to be finished off so not to meddle with it. She took a deep breath in and flanked back at Sark who was watching her intently. She took her attention away from him and to the window where it was softly snowing outside.  
  
"How do you know I won't kill you? Why don't you keep me locked in a room," she said, holding herself tighter. Sark returned his attention to his food.  
  
"I just saved your life and your accusing me of locking you in a room like some slave? Quite frankly, I'm shocked Miss Bristow. " He said in a sarcastic voice, Sydney did not crack a smile but remained stern faced. "I know you Sydney, better then you know yourself in fact. If you don't feel threatened, you won't take action. Plus, if wanted you dead I could've killed you hours ago easily. " Sydney had to admit, Sark was right. If she felt any sort of threat or felt she was in danger, she would pounce.  
  
Damn him.  
  
It was hard to feel tense or stressed in the scenic setting she was in. The silence of the snow falling comforted her in ways another human could never could.  
  
"Ear something." He said, gesturing towards the kitchen "must have been hours since you've last eaten."  
  
Sark was, again, right.  
  
Sydney had no idea when the last time she had had something to eat. It had seemed like a week since the party in Cuba. She turned and walked into the kitchen. Sark had made chicken alfredo and salad. Sydney served herself and poured herself a glass of wine. She was hesitant at first, but walked out into the living room and joined Sark. Sitting in the armchair, she sat her plate on her lap but didn't eat.  
  
"Why aren't you eating?" Sark asked, halfway finished with his plate.  
  
"It's just a bit weird, isn't it?" Sydney asked, glancing up at him momentarily but looking down at her plate again. "Two people who have tried to kill each other numerous of times are now eating dinner together."  
  
Sark smiled at this and raised his glass to her, "Cheers!" he said and finished off his wine.  
  
-  
  
In London, there was a pub. This pub was a very smoky pub with neon beer advertisements on the wall. They blinked a few times but continued to dimly illuminate the room. There were only 6 people in the bar, which was the normal crowd to the bartender. Two men sat at the bar; with beers in there hands they watched the news absentmindedly. They didn't understand a word the newscaster was saying. They just needed something to keep their minds of their troubles.  
  
A man in a dark suit stepped through the door and made a beeline to the bar. He ordered a Manhattan as he sat down next to one of the men. As the bartender busied himself with the order, the man in the suited gazed up to the T.V.  
  
"Lovely night, isn't Dean?" he spoke; his voice was tired yet livid at the same time.  
  
"How did you find me Sloane?" Dean spoke back, his eyes not moving from the small T.V.  
  
"I have my ways," Sloane replied as his drink was served. He nodded thanks to the bartender and watched as he vanished behind a door. He held his drink as he continued to talk, "Where is he?"  
  
"You think your going to get an answer out of me that easily?" he scoffed, taking another swig of his beer.  
  
"Dean, there are three possibilities. He's either in your New York loft, your Brazilian beach house, or your Swedish cottage. I just need you to make my job easier." Sloane said coolly, still not touching his drink.  
  
"Fuck off," he mumbled as he finished off his drink. Sloane sighed in return and brought the drink in his hands to his lips, taking a small sip. He let the drink sit on his tongue, soaking in the taste, and swallowed.  
  
"We have your wife, Dean," Sloane said, slipping his handgun out of his pocket and jabbing it into Dean's side. He didn't flinch in return. "If you don't cooperate with me you both will die."  
  
"And if I do, we'll die anyway. Correct?" Dean muttered, holding his empty mug in his hand.  
  
"We have your daughter as well." This pushed a button, Sloane watched as his eyes widened.  
  
"Chelsea? H-how did you find her?" His voice shook with fear.  
  
"Your wife can be very chatty once she has a fun to her head." He snarled, "I'm losing my patience, Dean. Now tell me, where is Sark?"  
  
"My cottage . I-in the Swiss Alps," he said, trying to keep his cool but his hands shook violently.  
  
"Now, was that so hard?" Sloane spoke in a mocking tone, slapping Dean on the back. "Your daughter and wife shall live," Sloane stood up and straightened his suit. His gun was still held in his hand.  
  
He raised the gun quickly and shot the man in the back of the head. Sloane watched people quickly run out, cursing him in slurred words. Sloane reached into his pocket and pulled out a few pounds and threw them on the table before walking out. 


	8. Slide

Sark slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness of the sun that drifted through the curtains. He attempted to sit up, but his hangover kept him in his place. He began to remember last night but it was difficult; most of it was a blur. He remembered eating a very quiet dinner with Sydney, a very tense quiet that slightly unnerved him as he ate. Sydney excused herself for bed as soon as she was done and Sark was left alone. He finished off the bottle of wine he had started earlier, and opened another one. It became extremely difficult to remember anything further than that; it all seemed like a blur.  
  
He finally pulled himself out of bed and made his way downstairs, stumbling here and there. He heard a melodic rhythm drifting its way through the house; the source seemed to be the fitness room. Curiosity got the best of Sark as he followed the music. He opened the door a crack and peered in.  
  
Sydney was punching a punching bag furiously to the beat of the music. Sweat dripped from her neck and down the curve of her back. Sark stepped in and Sydney seemed to take no notice of his presence. He watched her for a bit, her muscles built up and contracted with the slightest movement of her arm. Sark was mesmerized. Every punch seemed more furious then the last. Without realizing what he was doing, Sark begin to walk towards Sydney. He reached for the stereo and was just about to switch the stereo off when he felt a blow to his head. Next thing he knew, he was on his back with Sydney on top of him, holding both his arms down.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sark gasped. With Sydney's combined weight and the force of the blow, his breath was knocked out of him.  
  
"I'm sorry, you scared me!" she exclaimed.  
  
He looked up at her; beads of sweat were splattered on Sydney's brow as her hair stuck to her face. Sark felt the urge to tackle her back and kiss her.  
  
He withheld.  
  
"Bloody Hell, woman. I'd hate to see you when you're grouchy," He said. Then something struck him. Sydney Bristow was on top of him. Her lips were just inches from his. He looked into her soft brown eyes and felt the electricity. Sydney looked back into his. Something, certainly not gravity, started pulling her towards him. Sark realized this and heard a voice say, "You're still on top of me." He could feel her hot, ragged breath on his skin. This only turned him on more. Why didn't he just allow Sydney to kiss him? Sark didn't feel it was the right time. He wanted their first kiss anywhere but a gym floor. Though he was not sure why Sydney was going to kiss him, he couldn't let her. Not now.  
  
Wide-eyed, Sydney got off of him and seized a towel on a nearby bench. She wiped the sweat off and said, "I thought you were never going to get up," obviously not wanting to talk about what just happened.  
  
"No, I think you would enjoy that too much," he snapped back at her, standing up.  
  
Back to normal.  
  
He walked out of the room, clutching his side. Being pounced on with a hangover wasn't exactly how he wanted to start of his day. He hobbled towards the kitchen and started to make a pot of coffee. Sydney soon followed in with the towel around her neck.  
  
"So are we going anywhere today?" she asked as she opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. "France, Italy, I heard Russia is nice this time of year."  
  
"No, we're staying here," he told her as he watched his coffee drip slowly into the pot.  
  
"What?" she blurted out as she sat down at the table, facing him. "So we're going to stay here and let Sloane corner us in the middle of nowhere?"  
  
"He doesn't know we're here. I trust Dean; he would never rat us out." he shot back as he pulled a coffee mug from the pantry.  
  
"Trust isn't a word you should toss around," she retorted, taking a swig from the water.  
  
"Miss Bristow, I know who my friends are and who my enemies are. Trust me with my judgment," Sark pleaded as he poured his coffee into his cup.  
  
"Trust you with your judgment? Sark, I don't even know if I can trust you as a person," she told him. Silence feel between them.  
  
Sark stood there, his coffee in hand, letting what she just said sink in. She was right, he was a known enemy to her and she had no right to trust him. He finally turned to her. "I save you from Sloane and this is what I get?" he snapped at her, and walked out of the kitchen before she could reply. She knew she had said the wrong thing. Damn her for her stubbornness. She grabbed the bottle of water, walked out of the kitchen, and followed Sark into the living room.  
  
He now sat on the window ledge, watching the snow fall and sipping his coffee. He didn't acknowledge her presence when she walked up to him.  
  
"I'm sorry I said-" she said, almost under her breath.  
  
Sark interrupted her. "Don't say anything. You're right, you have no reason to trust me," he told her, remaining still and continuing to stare out the window. "But know this: If Sloane finds us, we're both dead," he finally turned to her, his eyes drooped in drowsiness, "I'm not close to letting Sloane win."  
  
Sydney didn't say a word after that. She didn't need to.  
  
Sark turned back to the window and Sydney sat on the couch. She was being completely ungrateful for what this man was doing for her. He was risking his career, not to mention his life, just for her. They both spent a long time in silence, contemplating their relationship.  
  
---  
  
Sark started to feel cabin fever crawl under his skin later that afternoon. He hated being contained to one place for too long. He did try to work out but he continued to feel the words close on him. He pulled on all the winter apparel he could find in the house; it was time for a good breath of fresh air.  
  
Sydney had disappeared after their tiff that morning. He didn't care where she went to hide, after more than 24 hours they both needed some space. So many questions that her brain could create made his head spin. Still, he kept his own desire to kidnap her and whisk her away to a cabin in the mountains a secret.  
  
Though he was busting at the seams to reveal them.  
  
He stepped out into the bitter cold as the winter wind slapped him in the face. He pulled his black snow hat further down and tightened his coat around him. He was going to shovel out the driveway, an attempt to preoccupy his mind from the situation he had created around him.  
  
Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched. Sydney had hid in her room to be alone with her thoughts. To think of why she had almost kissed Sark and offended him, all in 20 minutes time. She even impressed herself of her stubbornness and stupidity sometimes. The question still lingered, why did she almost kiss him? His deep blue eyes seemed to beckon her closer to him. She watched as he shoveled the snow into a small pile. Sydney felt a warm sensation wash over her. A sensation only a few other men had given her: one of the men being Vaughn. Was she attracted to Sark? Sydney got up and began to rummage through the clothes drawer. She needed to explore this feeling.  
  
---  
  
Beads of sweat begin to accumulate underneath Sark's hat. He stopped for a moment and leaned against his shovel, huffing out clouds of frozen air. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and was about to continue shoveling when he felt something cold hit the back of his neck. Jumping around, he spotted Sydney bending over and picking up a handful of snow, smirking to herself.  
  
"So, you think that's funny do you?" he asked, Sydney replied with another snowball to his chest. Sark couldn't help but smile back. He dropped the shovel and took a few steps forward. "You might want to watch your back, Miss Bristow. I've been known to … ATTACK!" he bellowed and began to chase after her. Sydney shrieked and tossing the snowball at him. It landed at his feet, and she ran in the opposite direction. Sark caught up with her and tackled her and they both fell to the ground. He picked up a handful of snow and began to playfully smother it into her hair. Through the shrieks, he could sense laughter coming from her.  
  
She was able to overcome him and shoved a handful of snow into his face. He rolled off of her in defeat. Strange enough, Sark was laughing too, something that was very foreign to him.  
  
Soon the laughter died down and they were left in silence, but this was a comfortable silence. They both stared into the large blue sky as clouds rolled by.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sydney said abruptly; her tone was soft. She turned her head and looked at Sark. His blonde hair was poking through his hat but he made no move to improve it. "About earlier, I should be thanking you for saving me." His blonde hair was poking through his hat but he made no move to approve it, "About earlier, I should be thanking you for saving me." Sark turned his head and looked back at Sydney. Her soft brown eyes seemed so livid against the pearl white snow.  
  
"Sydney, I'm a known enemy to you. You have a right to not trust me. God knows, I've tried to kill you numerous times before and …" Sydney wasn't blinking, nor was Sark. His words seem to dissolve before him. Sark sat up, he didn't know what he was doing, but his eye contact with Sydney didn't break. He scooped her up in his arms, and she didn't protest. In what seemed like slow motion to Sark and Sydney, their lips made contact. First it was tender but slowly became passionate. At that moment they weren't Sydney and Sark, nor were they two spies. They were two human beings looking for warmth and love. He moved his hands from the small of her back to her hair. Tangling his fingers in her long strands. Sloane could shoot him dead in the spot. It didn't matter now. Sark had what he wanted: he had Sydney.  
  
Unwillingly, some force pulled them apart. They were both breathing heavily as they intently looked at each other. They were in so much danger yet none of it mattered. As they looked into each other's eyes, they both understood what each other wanted. What they both needed.  
  
"Do you want this?" Sark asked breathlessly; it was a stupid question. He didn't care, he needed her confirmation. She returned his answer with a smile and pulled him towards her, capturing his lips with hers.  
  
Sark and Sydney didn't know how they did it, but somehow they made it to the master bedroom. With a few tugs and rips: clothes were off. His hands on her skin felt like ecstasy no words could explain. Sark felt her hot breath against his ear and it only made him want her more. She gave herself to him, and felt herself slide out of reality.  
  
---  
  
Hours later, Sydney woke and realized it was now dark outside, but she didn't move. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck as she shifted slightly in the bed. She had had sex with Sark. It was crazy but it was so true. She could have blamed it on the wine that they never had for excuse's sake, but she would always remember. She'd always remember the way he never let her head hit the bed with his hand behind it. The way her name sounded as it rolled off of his tongue in pure want and greed. The way he looked at her when they were finished: the passion still burning in his eyes. The way he held her, his face fitting so perfectly on the crook of her neck, his soft snoring. She tried looking for his arms around her but nothing was there.  
  
There was a loud crash that echoed through the halls of the house. Sydney sat straight up in terror but a mysterious hand restricted her from calling out Sark's name.  
  
They were caught. 


	9. Escape

"Don't make a sound," Sark whispered sharply in her ear; Sydney's body instantly loosened and relaxed. She turned to Sark and saw he was fully dressed but something was in his eyes.  
  
Fear.  
  
"Get dressed and I'll explain later," he whispered, tossing her clothes at her. Sydney nodded and dressed herself quickly. Sark moved from the bed and towards the door. She watched him peer through a small crack. Soon, she was fully dressed; Sark closed the door and moved towards her. "Come on, I know a way to get out." He grabbed her hand and directed her towards the closet.  
  
He opened the door to reveal it, full of coats. Sydney opened her mouth to complain but thought it wise to keep it shut. He pulled her past the coats and into the closet. Sark stopped, bent down, and opened a trap door to Sydney's astonishment.  
  
"Climb down," he ordered her. She didn't like it but it wasn't the time to argue. She obeyed him and climbed down the ladder. Soon, she reached the bottom and waited for Sark. Moments later, Sark climbed down. He grabbed her hand once again and signaled her to keep quiet. He opened the door a crack and peered out. After a few seconds, he quietly opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Sydney's jaw dropped.  
  
Plates were smashed on the floor, silverware was scattered, and drawers were left ajar. Things were smashed, ripped, and shredded to pieces. Sydney already recognized it as Sloane's style.  
  
Sydney's attention was soon turned to the voices approaching the kitchen. She quickly shoved Sark behind the overturned table and closely followed. Three large men dressed all in black entered the room, kicking plate pieces and silverware out of their way.  
  
"We've already checked this room," one man barked in English at the other two. Sydney and Sark pressed their backs hard against the table; neither of them dared to peek over the edge.  
  
Sydney wondered to herself how only just a few short hours before she was in complete ecstasy with Sark, only to be in so much danger hours later, with the same man. She felt Sark's fingers still tangled with hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze.  
  
"Then they're nowhere on the first floor. Try the 2nd floor," said another voice. "Come on, Mr. Sloane is waiting for us."  
  
Sydney let out a soft sigh of relief. As they listened, their footsteps faded up the stars. Once they were out of earshot, they made a move towards the backdoor. Before leaving the house, Sark bent down and grabbed a steak knife that lay on the ground. Just in case.  
  
Outside was quite the opposite then what was happening in the house: chaotic and frightening. The snowed seemed to silence everything including their footsteps around the edge of the house. They peered around the corner of the house and saw a white van parked on the side of the road. They saw a man leaning against the front of the van, smoking a cigarette. Without hesitation, Sark maneuvered towards the man. Before the guard knew what was happening, Sark restrained his yell with his free hand. Taking the steak knife, he quickly slit the man's throat and let the man fall to the ground. Sydney let out a small yelp and instantly felt weak. He never let the man fight back; he just murdered the man blindly.  
  
"Get in the van," Sark hissed as he reached into the dead man's pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Sydney hesitated a moment but climbed into the passenger seat. Sark climbed into the driver's seat and pushed a random key into the ignition. Soon the roar of the engine was present and he veered the car around. Yelling became apparent to both of them. Sydney faced the house and saw the three thugs hanging out a window. She watched as shock grew on their faces as they realized their get-away car was, well, getting away. A few shots were fired but they all hit the snow.  
  
As they drove off, the house became considerably smaller. The men were nowhere in sight. Sark and Sydney didn't speak to each other for several miles; they both knew Sloane was hot on their tails. Sydney shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Those men were so close to killing them; Sloane was too close. It sent a shiver up her spine and sent her stomach into flip- flops.  
  
Sark jerked the car to the side of the road and parked. Sydney opened her mouth to shout about Sark's driving skills when his mouth passionately smothered hers. He pulled away and she was left breathless and wanting more.  
  
"I've been wanting to do that since I woke you," he said in a deep, breathy voice. His accent made Sydney want to melt in his grip. Sydney wanted to say something, but forming a sentence was near impossible. He smiled at her attempt and brushed his lips against hers. Sydney closed her eyes and tried again.  
  
"Where are we going to go now?" she asked, her voice small. Sark looked back at her, reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
"I think it's time to bring you home," he told her, a slight smile apparent on his lips.  
  
---  
  
It had been hours since Sloane's men had called, needing another retrieval team to take them out. Sloane was angry but kept it contained. For several hours, Sloane stayed in his office. He ignored his assistant who checked up on him quite often, Irina coming in and out of his office, and any other disturbance that occurred. He kept his business chair turned towards the window.  
  
After several hours, the three men stumbled in, each of them looking tired and beaten. Sloane turned his chair and gestured for them to sit. They obeyed him while giving each other nervous glances. Sloane folded his hands in his lap and gave each of the men a look that could kill.  
  
"I asked you to do one, simple, fucking job and you couldn't accomplish that," he growled, his eyes were thin slits. The man who sat in the middle cleared his throat and spoke, his voice quivering with every word.  
  
"S-sir, they killed Williams. W-we had no idea until-"  
  
"SILENCE!" Sloane yelled. He closed his eyes and tried to gather what patience he had left. "You failed the mission. Pure and simple." He reached inside one of his desk drawers. The three men stood but didn't move towards the door, their feet were weighed down with fear. Sloane lifted the loaded gun and shot each of them once in the chest, his face twisted with pain and anger.  
  
Afterwards, the soft echoing of the last shot was apparent. Sloane threw the gun back into the drawer and sat down once again in his chair.  
  
"You're fired." He spat out at the dead bodies.  
  
---  
  
In a completely different part of the world, a man was sitting at his work desk. He wasn't doing overtime, not was he trying to avoid a loved one. He was trying to find his.  
  
Dark circles were apparent under Vaughn's eyes as he looked over intel. Since he had heard of Sydney's disappearance, he had spent every waking minute trying to find any clues to her location. All he knew was the last time she was seen, she was being chased by Sark. She could be anywhere or even . no, no negative thoughts. Keep it together, Vaughn! He sighed in frustration, it was the early hours of the morning and he was still getting no where.  
  
The sudden shrilling of the phone made Vaughn's migraine grow worse. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he reached over and picked up the phone.  
  
"Hello?" his tired voice asked.  
  
"Miss Bristow is leaving Sweden as we speak," a robotic voice said.  
  
"H-how do you know? Who the hell is this?" he asked, his voice sounding more alert.  
  
"Just call me your guardian angel." 


	10. Home

Sark amazed Sydney sometimes. The way he could talk people into doing things for him was a true talent. He managed to book a flight for them so quickly and effortlessly. He invented new aliases for both of them and created an objective so quickly, it made Sydney's head spin.  
  
They didn't walk into the airport as Sark and Sydney but as Nicole and Taylor Hansen. They weren't flying to London because they needed to flee from an evil mastermind. They were on their honeymoon. Sydney donned a blonde wig and sported large glasses to hide her eyes. Sark slicked his usual unruly hair back and also hid his eyes behind a pair of normal reading glasses. They briskly walked into the large, overcrowded airport with a purpose. Soon, they were checked in and they boarded their flight, sitting in first class.  
  
While in the air, Sark grabbed Sydney's hand. This caused small smiles on both their faces to break out.  
  
"Nicole, dear, you look absolutely stunning. Jet lag and all," Sark told her. Sydney smiled in return, blushing gently, and put her glasses into her purse.  
  
"Thank you sweetheart," she replied in her own British accent. She leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his lips. As she leaned back, a small, fragile, old woman spoke up.  
  
"Let me guess, honeymoon?" she spoke, her voice high pitched and sweet. Sydney looked over and saw a man asleep, his mouth slightly opened. Sydney smiled back at her.  
  
"Just returning, married just last week." She said, squeezing Sark's hand.  
  
"How sweet," she wrinkled her nose as she spoke, "Lloyd and I are just returning from our anniversary trip." She gave a small gesture towards the sleeping man next to her. He grunted but made no other movements. "We met nearly 40 years ago. On our first date, we watched 'The Sound of Music.' That's what led me to pick the Swiss Alps." She informed them; Sydney couldn't help but smile back.  
  
"How romantic," Sydney replied, she looked at Sark who had lost interest in the conversation. He looked intently out the window as Sydney jabbed him in the ribs. "Isn't that sweet Taylor?"  
  
"OW! Yeah, yeah, really romantic," he muttered, rubbing his side.  
  
"Well, I'm ashamed to say, but I was watching you two. You look absolutely adorable together." She grinned. "Excuse me a moment, dear, must go use the little girl's room," She said before scuttling down the aisle. Sydney sat back and gave a satisfied grin. They both did really look like a just married couple. For the meantime, Sydney could pretend it was true.  
  
- - - -  
  
"You were right. They're on their way to London," said the same old women who spoke with Sydney earlier. She now sat in the plane's lavatory, using a cell phone.  
  
"Good," Sloane relied, a smile evident on his face, "Thank you Alice. You and Lloyd shall receive a check in the mail in a few days. Have a nice flight." And with that, Sloane hung the phone up. He sat back in his chair and glanced at Irina.  
  
"What now?" she asked in a cool, sophisticated voice. She did have doubts about the two spies they had placed on the phone. She knew how Sark liked to frequent his home in Ireland but was aware of his flat in London.  
  
"Give them a few days," he replied, his voice calm, "let them have their fun. Organize a surveillance team to watch them." Irina nodded and walked out of the room. Sloane smiled to himself and walked towards the window. As he watched the people pass underneath, he thought to himself. He had Sydney and Sark right where he wanted them, right under his thumb.  
  
- - - -  
  
They arrived in London a few hours later. Sark hailed a cab and they were off towards downtown London. Sydney remained in disguise, as did Sark. Yet, Sydney didn't want to take it off. She enjoyed being able to get close to Sark in public. Not worrying if anybody was watching them. She could grab Sark's hand without a care and no think twice about it. It was one alias she didn't want to leave behind.  
  
They arrive at his flat around one that afternoon; it was in the heart of London. As Sydney stepped in, she marveled at the stylish design of the interior. She didn't know any man who could clash sophistication with class so easily. Then she remembered.  
  
Vaughn could.  
  
Sark slipped his arms around her waist as the thought of Vaughn crept into her mind. He rested his chin on the crook of her neck. "Let me give you the official tour," he said as he moved past her, grabbing her hand. "This is the living room. Over here is the kitchen. There is the lavatory," he said, but Sydney wasn't listening. He said but Sydney wasn't listening. For the first time she grew stiff and uncomfortable at Sark's touch. For the first time, she felt guilty about their relationship. For the first time in a few days, she was thinking about Vaughn.  
  
"And here," he said, delivering a small kiss to her neck, "is the bedroom. Now, it's time for the proper welcoming." He muttered as he continued to kiss her neck but Sydney pulled away. She held herself as she walked into Sark's living room.  
  
"I can't," she muttered as she sat on a plush couch and sinking into it. "I can't," she repeated. Sark looked at her with concern mixed with confusion as he followed her, sitting on an armchair across from her.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked though he didn't need to. He already knew by the expression on her face. It was him, her Vaughn.  
  
"Sark! Look at us!" she exclaimed, "I'm Sydney Bristow, central intelligence officer. You're Sark, you're the enemy. You're the very person I work against, to take you down." He was hurt by these words but he didn't say a word. "We could never be together intimately. We could never be seen in public together without being killed. It can never work out."  
  
"You're right," he said in a resentful, bitter voice. He didn't want to admit it, but he had to come to terms.  
  
"I have Vaughn, I love him and-"  
  
"Don't I make you forget about Vaughn?" he blurted out, not being able to hold it back anymore." Didn't I make you forget about the CIA, Sloane, reality for those few hours?" Sydney opened her mouth to retort but closed it once again. "Answer me this: has Vaughn ever made that happen for you?" Sark stood for a beat. He watched Sydney watch him, then left the room and entered the kitchen, breathing unevenly. He didn't want to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted to do.  
  
But at the same time, he didn't want to get hurt either.  
  
Sydney sat there, unmoving and staring at the spot where he once stood. She did forget about all those things: her father, Sloane, SD-6, the CIA, just everything.  
  
Sydney directed her attention elsewhere. No, it could never happen. She tried to forget about Sark's question but it turned impossible. She felt Sark as if he was still in the room. She glanced towards the coffee table and saw outdated newspapers. She turned her head again and saw random coffee cups placed here and there. She could smell him, the sweet cinnamon smell. It wasn't strong but strong enough for her to notice and savior it.  
  
Vaughn smelled of dog food and day old coffee.  
  
What if she was falling for the enemy? Could it be better then it seems or could she be falling into danger? Would she follow what her head said or what her heart said? 


	11. Rainy London Nights

---  
  
What will this fix?  
  
You know you're not a quick forgive.  
  
And I won't sleep through this.  
  
I survive on the breath you are finished with.  
  
"Come Back to Bed" by John Mayer  
  
---  
  
Sark burst into the kitchen like a spoiled 3 year old not getting his way. He slammed the door behind him only to realize it was a swinging door.  
  
Sark has killed many men in the past. Hundreds of innocent, or not so innocent, souls were at his mercy. At the moment, he would take it all back if he could kill just one man, one man that seemed to interfere with his life even though he wasn't in the same country let alone the same room.  
  
Vaughn.  
  
He leaned against the deep forest green counter as he looked at his abused kitchen. Dirty dishes from past months still lay in the sink. He dare not look in the refrigerator in fear of something molding with age might attack him.  
  
He didn't mean to say those things to Sydney in such a tone but they were true. It had been an incredible experience for both of them. Forgetting where they were, who they were. Being so wrapped up into each other's bodies, into each other's spirits. They only cared about their wants and needs.  
  
Sark yearned for that intimacy once again.  
  
He wanted to forget about it all. Forget the line between fantasy and reality, between want and need, between have and take.  
  
Sark was so deep in thought, he didn't hear Sydney come into the kitchen. He didn't realize her presence until she leaned against the counter next to him. An uncomfortable silence filled between them for a short time: They waited for the other person to speak first.  
  
"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time. They both stiffened for a moment and then relaxed. Sydney adjusted her hips against the counter top as Sark spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sark spoke first, his tone warm and soft, "I didn't want to sound like I was angry with you. I'm just," he struggled with words for a moment, "frustrated with this situation." He didn't look at her; he instead let his chin fell against his chest as a sign he was done.  
  
"And I'm sorry" Sydney replied, her voice small and fragile, "You were right, you did make me forget all those things: the CIA, Sloane, Vaughn." She added the last part in an uncomfortable tone.  
  
"But you were right as well. We could never work this out. Our occupations will never allow it." Sark replied, he glanced at her briefly and then looked away. He did not understand why he was feeling so nervous with her.  
  
"Yes." Sydney agreed with the last part. "But you know," she said as she shifted her body in his direction, "we could still enjoy it for the time being." She said, releasing a smirk. Sark looked up at her but didn't turn away; instead he returned her smirk with a smile.  
  
"So, all is forgiven?" Sark replied as he shifted his body towards her. She replied with a small kiss on his lips. As he moved closer to deepen the kiss, she took a step back.  
  
"Hold on." She said to Sark's dismay. "First, I need to take a shower." She smiled and a placed a small kiss on his nose as a frown became apparent on his face. She moved towards the kitchen door but stopped and turned towards him. "Do you think you can help me?"  
  
"With what?" Sark replied, shoving his hands into his pocket. It was like dangling a bone in front of a hungry-driven dog, an inhuman torture in Sark's mind.  
  
"You see, there's this spot on my back that I just can't reach." She said, a small laugh hidden in her words. Sark returned her smile once again and took a few strides towards her. His smile widened as his lips crashed upon hers. They both stumbled out of the kitchen, unbuttoning some clothes and tearing others: leaving a trail of remains behind them. When they finally reached the bathroom, nothing could stop them.  
  
---  
  
Hours later, they both lay fast asleep in Sark's bed. Sydney was the first to wake; she opened her eyes and saw the spikes from Sark's hair poke up from between 2 pillows. She felt more content knowing he was there with her, it was so much different then the panic she woke the last time they were in this situation. She didn't move for a moment, afraid to spoil the moment. She watched his chest rise and fall in a shallow, graceful pattern. She resisted the urge to trace along Sark's prevailing features: his dominant nose, pouty lips, and strong chin. She felt his arm wrapped around her, not tightly but in a secure way. Much like how a young boy would hold his security blanket.  
  
Sark slowly lifted his eyelids and moved his head towards Sydney. She smiled in return. "Hey." She said in a faint whisper.  
  
"Hey," he replied in a small, hoarse voice. Although he had just woken up, his eyes remained the same livid blue as ever: Sydney wanted to drown in them.  
  
"That was wonderful." She replied as he pulled her closer to him. Her head now laid on his collarbone and her hand found a place on his stomach.  
  
"You didn't do too bad yourself." He sighed. As his head drooped back into unconsciousness, Sydney felt a burden in her stomach that she had only started to notice.  
  
"What's your real name?" she asked. Sark's eyes popped open and he laughed softly.  
  
"After all we've been through, you ask that?" he chuckled, he looked down at her and saw the seriousness in her features. "It's Steve, Steve Sark."  
  
"Oh," she replied in a slightly disappointed voice. "If my name were Steve Sark, I'd go by Sark too. Steve doesn't sound as dangerous." She teased him. Suddenly a pillow softly greeted her face. She removed it and saw Sark had turned his back to her again. Sydney tossed the pillow off to the side and wrapped her arms around him, placing small kisses on his shoulder blade.  
  
As they were about to fall into a peaceful slumber, they both were interrupted by their stomach's combined growl. Sydney let a short laugh escape from her lips as Sark did the same.  
  
"I can't remember the last time we ate something." She said, she lifted her head and peered over his shoulder to see a small smile on his face.  
  
"The plane. We had those stale, salty peanuts." He replied, his chest rose and fell in a sigh. "What time is it?" Sydney shifted her body to look at the alarm clock next to his bed.  
  
"8:30," she replied in a nonchalant voice. Sark paused for a moment and then slid out from Sydney's grip and out of bed.  
  
"I know this Chinese restaurant around the corner." He explained as he searched his drawers for clothes. "They have the best sweet and sour pork and I should know, I've been to China plenty of times to be an expert on sweet and sour pork."  
  
"Sex and Chinese food, you are my kind of man." Sydney smiled as she got up to find her clothes. As soon as they were all dressed and back into the aliases of Taylor and Nicole Hansen, they set out into the London nightlife.  
  
The streets were covered with a fresh sheet of rain. Sydney and Sark hadn't known it had rained, so it was a surprise. They held hands when the neon sign of the restaurant came into view. Sydney's eyes dropped from the sign to the street below. She stopped as Sark walked past her: a look of shock mixed with happiness emerged on her face.  
  
"Sydney?" Sark asked turned towards her; her eyes still stared straight ahead. As Sark turned his head to see what she was looking at, Sydney spoke words he didn't want to hear: not yet, not now.  
  
"Vaughn," she said in a breathless voice, "Vaughn's here."  
  
--  
  
PS: Yes "Come Back to Bed" is from John Mayer's new album "Heavier Things", which I push every single human being to purchase! It's a brilliant record with wonderful lyrics and it's been on full rotation in my cd player since Wednesday! There, now I'm done with the publicity stunt! - Nicki 


	12. Breaking Point

Without another moment of hesitation, Sark seized Sydney's arm and pulled her into a darkened ally-way.  
  
"What are you doing? That was Vaughn!" Sydney asked him in a harsh voice. His hand remained on her arm, gripping it tightly.  
  
"Do you realize if he sees me he will kill me? Let alone I'm standing here with you," Sark's chest moved in a rapid motion as his heart rate skyrocketed. Why do things turn against him as soon as they start getting good? Why? His eyes dropped and searched the ground as if he would find the answer laying on his feet. "OK, we need a plan. We need to get back to my flat without him seeing us." He peeked around the corner and saw Vaughn walking towards them. "Shit, He's coming!"  
  
- - -  
  
Vaughn waited impatiently outside the restaurant. The strange voice called him only a few days ago, informing him Sydney was in the general area of this restaurant in London. He had no other choice but to leave and did what he was told, buy a ticket under the alias Tim Stewart and left without telling anyone where he was going. He tugged his coat tighter around him as the damp air made the coldness unbearable.  
  
He had been there for an hour and was quite pissed now. H0e was about to walk back to his hotel, only a few blocks up, when he saw her. Or at least, he thinks he did.  
  
A woman who had Sydney's lips, the ones he craved so much to kiss. She had her eyes, the ones that sparked a fire that would make Hell jealous. The only difference was the hair. The woman had vibrant blonde hair, the antithesis of Sydney's soft, dull brown. She also walked with a suitor but the shadows hid his face from sight. The moment they locked eyes, Vaughn and this mysterious woman, the look on her face made it apparent she recognized him. He blinked for only a second and suddenly she was gone. He searched frantically for her, scanning his eyes everywhere on the deserted way but she had disappeared.  
  
He quickly walked to the spot where she once stood. Begging for some clue to the women's indentity. He soon reached the spot and glanced into the mouth of an alleyway. He stepped in and looked over everything.  
  
Nothing but garbage and rats.  
  
Vaughn sighed in defeat and walked out of the alleyway. Maybe she was some figment of his imagination. Possibly his head toying with him because of his desire to see Sydney once again, he wanted to so terribly that he produced this image of a woman to satisfy his eyes for mere moments. With one last desperate look over the alleyway and the street he began to drag himself back to his hotel.  
  
- - -  
  
Once Vaughn's footsteps had faded, Sark pushed the lid off of the dumpster; breathing in the fresh air of the night. He and Sydney hopped out of it.  
  
"Someone knows where here." Sydney stated, looking around the corner to check that the coast was clear.  
  
"Most likely." Sark replied, glancing around the corner to see as well. "Come on we'll go back to my flat, I have to get in contact with somebody and get us out of his bloody place." He said as they began their decent to his flat.  
  
They had both already reached the door when they noticed it stood ajar. Exchanging nervous glances, they pushed the door open. If the flat wasn't a mess before, it was now. Couches were on their sides; the cushions were slashed and the stuffing was everything. Things were either smashed or broken, just like what happened at the house in Switzerland. Sydney glanced at Sark and instead of seeing any kind of weakness, his features stood strong and calculated. Sydney knew Sark's words before they left his mouth.  
  
"Sloane's been here." He muttered, angst dripping from every word. He took a sharp turn and walked back down the hallway. Sydney had no choice but to follow. As soon as she caught up with him, he began to speak.  
  
"We've been found, we have to leave." He told her, his eyes remained ahead.  
  
"But where? Sloane has a tag on us, he'll probably know where we are and where we are going." Sydney retorted in an angry voice.  
  
"I don't know." He said truthfully. "All I know is we have to get out of here." They were now on the streets which were as damp as ever.  
  
"How are we going to get anywhere? There isn't a cab in sight!" She protested, as she said these words Sark walked up to a random car and threw his blow through the window, shattering it.  
  
"Now I do." He replied in a effortless voice as he unlocked the car and continued to hot wire it.  
  
"Always have to do things your way, huh?" she muttered as she got into the passenger seat. They were soon on their way out of London.  
  
- - -  
  
Vaughn finally opened his hotel room door when his cell phone began to ring. Sighing in frustration he seized it and flipped it open.  
  
"You fucking lied to me!" he said as he slammed the door behind him and leaning against it. "She wasn't there."  
  
"Ah but she was," said the electronic voice, making Vaughn want to throw the phone against the wall until it said "but I know where she is going this very second."  
  
"Why should I listen to you? How can I trust you again?"  
  
"Do you have a choice? Now, if you're done with your stupid questions, listen to these directions and you'll have your precious girlfriend back and I'll have what I want." It added with a small chuckle. Vaughn's defense fell in surrender and he listened to the directions closely.  
  
- - -  
  
Sydney and Sark soon arrived at a small private airport that stood outside of London. Without speaking, they both walked quickly towards a small plane.  
  
"What is this place?" Sydney asked as Sark reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of keys when they reached the door of the plane.  
  
"You don't think my father didn't leave me with nothing? He left this plane for emergencies and this situation," he finally found the correct key and placed it into the lock, "defines emergency." He pushed the door open and flipped a switch that light the cabin with dim lights. It was very cramped (only holding 4 seats) but comfortable looking. Sark maneuvered to the front of the plane and sat in the pilot's seat up front while Sydney sat in the co-pilot's seat.  
  
"Alright, lets just hope I remember how to fly this thing." He said as he reached forward to flip a small switch when he felt a cold barrel of a gun against the back of his neck.  
  
"Well, hello Sark. Fancy seeing you here." said a voice behind him. Sark's blood ran cold. 


	13. Obstacles

"Vaughn?" Sydney spoke in a feeble voice. Indeed it was Vaughn, but not the same Vaughn Sydney knew a few months back. This Vaughn seemed different, distant, and enraged. His face glowed a bright red as he kept his attention at the back of Sark's head.  
  
"Sydney," He spoke in a shaky voice, "Get off ... the plane." His words seemed to come out in huffs. Sydney, now panick stricken, looked from where Vaughn was pointing the gun at to Sark's face. It appeared calm and calculated, no sign of stress or worry.  
  
"Vaughn, please don't do this! He sa-"  
  
"No!" He barked, not daring to tear his eyes away from his target. "You don't understand what you're saying. He's brainwashed you."  
  
"Vaughn, I'm perfectly capable of speaking what I think. I have not been-" but Sydney broke off. Vaughn was now looking at her, desperation shadowed his usual cheerful green eyes, sadness seemed to have aged his face: Dark circles were apparent underneath his eyes, his 5 'o clock shadow was now almost a full beard. Sydney wanted to crash into him at that moment. Vaughn turned his attention quickly back to Sark.  
  
"Get up." He ordered him, jabbing him in the back of his neck. Sark obeyed him, lifting his hands into the air. As Vaughn was about to bark out another command, Sark's arm swung around and grabbed the gun. The two men began to struggle over the gun. With a swift kick, Vaughn stumbled backwards as the gun went flying in the air and landed in front of Sydney. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and lifted it towards Sark and Vaughn. They were both now standing in front of her. Vaughn leapt towards Sark and restrained his arms from behind him. Sydney could still see Vaughn's head over Sark's top left shoulder.  
  
"Sydney! Shoot him now!" Vaughn bellowed from behind. Sydney didn't move but kept the gun pointed at the two men. "Sydney, do it now!"  
  
Suddenly, Sydney's breathing became very apparent to her and everything slowed down. Vaughn continued to yell at her but Sark starred at her. His piercing blue eyes saying everything he needed to say. Sydney aimed the gun and fired, all of it remaining in slow motion. She watched as Vaughn's limp body fell to the floor dead.  
  
Sydney stood still for a few moments, gun still raised but her eyes still on Vaughn's dead body. The gun slipped out of her hands and fell onto the floor. Everything remained mute to her.  
  
Sark, very shaken, took a few steps forward towards Sydney. He now noticed her shaking and how quickly her eyes were becoming red. He doesn't touch her, though every inch of him is screaming for her, he only watches. Sydney's eyes meet his and they lock instantly.  
  
"Thank you," he says softly, "You saved my life."  
  
"I chose you," she spoke, her voice abnormally shark. Finally, her façade broke and she began to break down in sobs and she fell into Sark's arms. He held her tightly, breathing in her scent and thanking god he was alive to smell it. Sydney wiped the tears out of her eyes and looked out the window. She immediately pulled away from him.  
  
"Shit, we have company." She told him. Sark turned and saw a black vehicle pull up a few yards away from the plane. Sydney and Sark moved towards the window, still disguised by the shadowy compartment. They saw Irina and Sloane step out of the vehicle and Sark breathed in sharply. Sydney stood up quickly.  
  
"I have a plan." She spoke in a confident voice and Sark nodded.  
  
- - -  
  
Minutes later, Sark stepped off the plane in his usual sly fashion and walked up to Irina and Sloane who stood by their car.  
  
"Hello, fancy meeting you here." Sark spoke in his familiar mocking tone.  
  
"Cut the bull shit, Sark. Where's Sydney?" said Sloane with much aggression in his voice. Sark seemed unmoved by this comment.  
  
"She ran from me. Haven't seen her since." Sark replied in a cool fashion," tell me, how did Mr. Vaughn come across my location. You see, I was quite shocked to see him here. Looking for my blood and all." He watched as a smile spread across Irina's face.  
  
"I have no idea what you mean," Irina said.  
  
"Now, that's not the truth Irina."  
  
"Neither was your story. Now tell us." She demanded in return.  
  
"Oh, she is somewhere but I'm not saying a word until you tell me how Vaughn found me."  
  
"That would be my doing. I thought if I called Vaughn and give him clues on where you and Sydney were that he could do the dirty work for us." Irina grinned, "I knew he would never kill Sydney so I was sure she was safe."  
  
"Sark, you have been on the run for far too long. It's time to turn yourself in." Sloane told Sark, his face beginning to turn purple. "If you tell us where Sydney is right now I'll promise not to hurt her."  
  
Sark did not say a word in return but looked back at the plane.  
  
"Come on Sark, you can't keep running forever." Sloane told him. Sark smirked to himself as he looked back.  
  
"Oh can't I?" he responded. Sloane and Irina exchanged looks of confusion. Suddenly there was a rain of shots that erupted above their heads. They both jumped and took to the ground, shielding their heads with their hands. Sark quickly ran towards the plane and before neither Sloane nor Irina knew it, he had disappeared in it. Sark slammed the door behind him and looked to his left where Sydney stood with a gun in her hand. Without a word spoken she tossed the gun into an empty seat and moved towards the front of the plane as Sark sat in the pilot's sea. He began reaching for levers and buttons with ease, only to hesitate on some.  
  
"How long has it been since you've flown this thing?" Sydney asked as the plane came to a rumbling start.  
  
"Uh, few years I believe. It's not that difficult." Sark said in an uncertain voice as the plane began to rumble forward as they heard bullets bounce off of the plane exterior. Sydney looked out the window and saw Sloane's reinforcements had arrived and began to fire at them.  
  
"Shit," Sydney mumbled underneath her breath, "You better get this tin bucket in the air quickly. We have company." She told him, he nodded in response and pulled towards the runway. Shots continued to be fired as they lifted off the ground but only to fall back down again. Sark swore as he pulled the plane back into the air and it was finally air bound. Sloane cursed at their escape.  
  
"Continue to fire! I want that plane down." He ordered his men. He squinted as the plane continued to fly away.  
  
"It doesn't matter" Irina hissed, also watching the plane fly away "Where ever Sark and Sydney go, we will find them."  
  
Suddenly the plane took a violent drop from altitude. They took a nose five into the forest below it and in seconds was engulfed in flames. Sloane stood there, everyone in the airport became still as they watched the flames spread amongst the trees. He finally took a sharp breath in and said, "Get a team out there to check for survivors. If they find any, kill them." Sloane turned his heel and headed towards his vehicle. Irina stood there for a second after Sloane walked away, allowing the grief sweep over her entire body imanging if Sydney was lost. She felt tears form in her eyes but she saw people looking at her and blinked them back.  
  
"Get over to that wreckage and find bodies." She barked at them in her usual demeanor and stalked back to the vehicle as well. - - -  
  
A few hours later, after shifting through bits and pieces of the plane. They found no bodies in the remains. Sloane was furious.  
  
"They're gone sir." One shaky man told him.  
  
"What do you mean their gone?" Sloane questioned as he sat in his car.  
  
"We didn't find any bodies in the wreckage, sir." He replied, eyes wide with fear. Sloane did not respond quickly, but gritted his teeth with anger.  
  
"Search the area, I want dead bodies! If you don't find any, I'll make them." Sloane growled in a low voice as he rolled his window. Bitterly, Sloane turned on the ignition and drove away. Quietly, planning his revenge against Sark and Sydney.  
  
- - - Some where in the pacific ----  
  
"Another fruit smoothie, my dear?"  
  
"Oh no, I absolutely couldn't! I've already had two today."  
  
Sydney sat in a beach chair, her deep maroon colored hair fell gracefully against her now tanned shoulders. Sark sat next to her, his spiky blonde hair remaining but a beard began to form amongst his chin. They had escaped the plane before it fell into the trees with only minor cuts and bruises, using parachutes only moments before the plane hit the earth. They now sat on a white sand beach on a remote tropical island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Though, something still ate away at Sydney that left her wondering.  
  
"Sark," she said, her eyes closed as the salty breeze blew against her face.  
  
"Mmm?" Sark mumbled in return, obviously trying to fall asleep.  
  
"We can never stay here forever, can we?" Worry dripped from Sydney's words and Sark gave a sigh in return.  
  
"I suppose not." He replied, now sounding more awake.  
  
"Where will we go if we're found?" Sydney turned on her side and now faced him. The sun glimmered off his sunglasses as he turned his head towards her.  
  
"I'm not sure but for the moment, we're on a much needed vacation. No work, no lies, no Sloane, no nothing." Sark said as he reached over and softly touched Sydney's hand. Sydney glanced at her hand and then at the ocean. It was her vacation. She wasn't Sydney Bristow now but someone else. She was another face in the crowd that has her own agenda and needs not worry about others. She then pulled her gaze from the ocean to Sark once again who continuing to trace his finger on her hand. She smiled as she reached her hand behind his neck and pulled him closer to her, placing a kiss on his lips, his beard lightly tickling her upper lip. Well, she can worry about one other person.  
  
Unknown to them, a person was camouflaged in the bushes near by. They watched and listen closely to their conversation. When they kissed, they pulled a cell phone out of their pocket and began to dial a very familiar number.  
  
"I've found them."  
  
THE END  
  
Thanks you: I want to first say Thank you to my Beta-Reader who proof read my first couple chapters. I truly appreciate your help. I want to thank my friend Twinky for pushing me to finish this story when I was being lazy. You're the best! Sorry about killing off Vaughn but in typical Alias fashion; Someone has to die! Also, the people who have read this story (Even those who just reviewed one chapter)! You have no idea how much I love finding new reviews in my mailbox. You guys helped me finished the story. Thank you very much! And Lastly, I want to thank Sark for being a very sexy man and inspiring me to write this story. Love ya babe ;) 


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